--in the house that Courtleigh Fleming built. When you're low in
your mind, just say that over!"

She managed a faint smile. "I've forgotten it already," she said,
drooping.

He still strove for an offhand gaiety that he did not feel.

"Why, look here!" and she followed the play of his hands obediently,
like a tired child, "it's a sort of game, dearest. 'Money, money--
who's got the money?' You know!" For the dozenth time he stared at
the unrevealing walls of the room. "For that matter," he added,
"the Hidden Room may be behind these very walls."

He looked about for a tool, a poker, anything that would sound the
walls and test them for hollow spaces. Ah, he had it--that driver
in the bag of golf clubs over in the corner. He got the driver and
stood wondering where he had best begin. That blank wall above the
fireplace looked as promising as any. He tapped it gently with the
golf club--afraid to make too much noise and yet anxious to test
the wall as thoroughly as possible. A dull, heavy reverberation
answered his stroke--nothing hollow there apparently.

As he tried another spot, again thunder beat the long roll on its
iron drum outside, in the night. The lights blinked--wavered--
recovered.

"The lights are going out again," said Dale dully, her excitement
sunk into a stupefied calm.